The Beggar
by Wega the blue sun
Summary: An outside observers thoughts on SB. No mature themes here, so everyone come on in!


The Beggar 

A Konjiki No Gash Bell (Zatch Bell) fan fic

No copyright infringement intended, only the original character belongs to me. And the fic! It belongs to me, too.

An outside observer thinks about S/B. No mature themes here, so come on in!

A/N: thanks to all reviewers on my previous fics! Yes, all are finished. And yes, in case I was too discreet in Liar: Sherry was - by Brago - but she isn't anymore. And no, Brago doesn't know - nor will he find out from me or Sherry. Or maybe he will, I haven't decided. Fan art? Someone wants to draw me fan art - how cool is that!

The Beggar

I'm an old man and I live on the streets of this rich city. I'm a cripple and I support myself by selling trinkets to pedestrians. Most will ignore me and go about their business, unaware how blessed they arewith their health and vigor.  
Some will avert their eyes when they come near me. Their sensibilities are offended by my disfigurements and I serve as a living reminder of how cruel fate can be.  
And then there are the generous ones. Naturally I like them best. They will look over my wares in hopes of finding something worthy of their money. Others will dispense with buying something altogether and just hand their gift over. It is all the same to me, I am not proud. I can't afford to be, not anymore.

When the weather is very harsh I have to find shelter. A church, a mission, sometimes a cardboard box in a dirty alley has to suffice. Beggars truly can't be Choosers. I have no family or friends anymore. The down and out have to live by their wits.

Things used to be different, once I was ...But there's no point in revisiting old times. They are gone and best forgotten.

I try to make the best out of my situation. I can still find pleasure in the soft breeze of a warm spring day. Sometimes a pedestrian will engage me in civilized conversation - a rare treat indeed. It takes strength to face me for longer than a moment, but my brain is still healthy, my soul is intact and I crave human contact.

Most of my time on the streets is spent observing. I've become very adept at judging people. From their appearance I can tell much about them. Their clothes indicate their social class and sometimes their occupation. Their faces often give away their thoughts and emotions. This is my way to participate in their lives.

People are just about the same anywhere, I learned that lesson when I was young and traveled the world. I've seen many unusual things and have many tales to tell, if someone were to listen. My thirst for adventure took me away from this town I was born in, but family and friends wrote letters whenever I settled down long enough to get an address, and they kept me abreast of changes that took place. Some of the passersby would be amazed what I know about them.

The other day a young woman walked down the street and I recognized her instantly. It was Sherry Bellmont, the only child of the wealthiest family around. When she was a little girl her mother would take her here and there in town. They often passed me by. Whenever Mrs. Bellmont saw me she'd give the girl a generous amount and Sherry would shyly approach me, blue eyes filled with pity. She'd drop the money in my outstretched hand and hurry back to the safer presence of her mother. Mrs. Bellmont understood her obligations to the community, but she wasn't a kind woman.  
At least not to her only child. Instead of adjusting her long stride to the little girl's steps Mrs. Bellmont would drag Sherry along, her hands clamped on the little one's tightly. She was too wellbred to shout at the girl on a public street, but the disgust was plain to see on her lovely, cold face.

Rumor had it (for all people love to talk, especially the servants of the wealthy) that the source of Mrs. Bellmonts frustration was the fact that little Sherry wasn't living up to her high expectations. The rich often have high hopes for their offspring, and Sherry's inability to shine in the tasks set before her was a terrible disappointment for her mothers ambitions. The Bellmonts have lived in this area for a long time, they are our equivalent of royalty in this age of commoners. For them more than others, failure is not an option.

Mrs. Bellmont is gone now, and no one misses her. I'm sure her daughter doesn't. She is grown up now, a pretty young thing in her pink and white dress. Her long blonde hair frames a lovely if unsmiling face. The costly rings on her manicured hands as well as the limousine she often uses tell me that the Bellmonts haven't yet fallen on hard times.

She has changed, that much is for sure. She hasn't given me any money in years. The mundane needs of the poor seem beyond her care now. She never smiles anymore. People say it's because of the big fire her friend Coco set. I think there's another reason, and it's plain for all to see.

Although I miss the money I'm glad she takes no notice of me. And that is because Ms. Bellmont has taken up with bad company. Rumor had it that Sherry had a strange new companion, so I knew about the dark thing before I actually saw it. Strange isn't the word for it. Surely one such as this must come straight from the pit. No human was involved in the making of this one. I am deformed, but it is grotesque. I will never forget the poisonous glance from its red eyes, nor the sharp teeth it bared at me.

People say that they travel far and often, always together. They say the creature lives at the manor house now, like one of the family. I cannot even imagine why a girl from a good family like hers would take up with someone - something like this. She must have a good reason, for such decisions aren't made lightly. I've even heard rumors that Ms. Bellmont has been involved in fights. Her eyes are focused on something far beyond the horizon and she wears her fancy dress like armor. A strange belt is wrapped around her waist, and it contains something heavy. There is an ominous spring in her step, and a threat in her demeanor.

The sight of the two of them walking swiftly, purposefully down the street triggered a memory. Poor little Coco had a strange friend like this, too. Although hers looked different it was no less menacing. Coco changed, too - very much.

Humans paired with - I'm not sure what they are but I refuse to believe the gossips. Surely people haven't become so complacent that they accept demons in their midst? And yet I can't deny what's plain for all to see - what other type of creature could they be?

Where Sherry and her companion walk others will give them a wide berth. They sense - like I do - that these two are on a mission and it's best to let them pass unmolested. Even an old man like me who has suffered much and whose time on earth draws short breathes a sigh of relief when the wild woman and her demon pass by without a glance in my direction. It isn't the likes of me they're after and I am glad for that.


End file.
